


you burn me

by starraya



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, highty unethical shenanigans, inspired by Wentworth S3, mentions of blood and violence but very brief, prisoner/ therapist AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-18 01:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13089228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starraya/pseuds/starraya
Summary: "You only starting working in prisons five years ago." Bernie slouches back in the chair. "What happened five years ago?""You've done your research on me.""Only fair. So, what happened? Must have been pretty fucked up.""We're not here to talk about me.""Come on," Bernie stands up, "what does a pretty girl like you get from rubbing shoulders with violent criminals and junkies?" She puts her hands on the arms of Serena's chair, leans in close. "Does it turn you on?"





	1. Chapter One

"Berenice Wolfe?"

Bernie ignores the voice, strides on.

"Bernie?" Still the woman persists, keeps pace beside her. 

Bernie stops. "Who wants to know?"

She turns to the woman, looks her up and down, her short silver hair, her bright orange shirt, open and flowing, the blue singlet underneath. 

_Not another bloody -_

"SerenaCampbell," the woman smiles, proffers a hand for Bernie to shake. "I'm the new psychologist."   

Bernie glances at her hand, turns back, strides on. The woman strides on too.

"I thought we could have a chat," she says, breezily, still smiling.

"Sorry, but I'm not dating at the moment."

The woman continues. "No need to be afraid. I'm not a officer. It won't be anything formal."

"Why, Ms Campbell, we've only just met." 

"You're up for parole soon, aren't you?"

"What's it to you?"

"I can help. If you -"

"Nice fantasy, but I'm alright on my own, thanks. Now if you don't mind . . ." 

Bernie heads for the queue for the telephone. The other prisoners step back from the wall. The woman on the phone sees Bernie and hangs up.

Bernie picks it up, dials a number. As it connects, she doesn't bother to look up to see Ms Campbell walk away.

-

"I'm so sorry. They cancelled all the visits. I didn't know till the last minute. Can't you get away again?"

Bernie squeezes her eyes shut, pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Cam, I know it's hard. I know Marcus - "

Bernie breathes out, deep. "I understand. You will call though, next week?"

The line goes dead. Bernie slams the phone against the holder. "For fuck's sake!" 

"Wolfe," Ms March appears, shouting, "calm down." 

"And why the fuck should I do that?"

"If you don't, I'll have to - "

"Fuck you. Fuck this place. You take away everyone's visitation without warning, then you half the calling time."

"Wolfe, don't make me call for back-up."

"If you treat us all like animals, how the fuck do you expect us to behave?" 

Bernie throws her hands up, sees Mr Di Lucca and Fletch advanding down the corridor. 

"What it's this time, Ms Wolfe?" Di Lucca asks.

"Nothing," Benrie drops her hands. "Everything's tickety boo. Me and Ms March were just debating the topic of human rights."

"She was making a scene. Yelling verbal abuse." 

"No physical?" Fletch asks.

"No," Ms March folds her arms, "not this time."

"Surely you don't want us to slot her just for that?"

"Save your time, Mr Fletcher. But rest assured," she narrows her eyes at Bernie, "I will be filing a verbal abuse charge. Looks like you'll be with us another year Ms Wolfe. I doubt the board will consider your parole now."

Ms March smiles a thin smile, turns in the direction of Governor's office.

"Fuck." Bernie marches in the opposite direction. Di Lucca and Fletch shuffle nervously after her.

"Chill out. I'm just using the bathroom," Bernie calls back, "while I still can."

-

Bernie stands in the shower, lets the hot water rush down her skin, lets it mix with the tears. 

" _Fuck_."

-

In the library, Bernie turns the page of the book in her lap. She doesn't look up at the sound of footsteps.

"What now? Come for round two? I'm not interested." 

"Behave yourself, Wolfe," Ms March says. "I'm doing you a favour. Ms Campbell's doing you a favour."

Bernie's eyes flick up, take in silver hair and bright orange. 

Ms Campbell smiles. "Ms March has decided to withdraw the verbal abuse charge."

"For real? This isn't some kind of joke?"

"On two conditions," Serena explains. "One, that you apologise to Ms March. Two, that you attend regular counselling sessions with me, starting tomorrow."

"I'm sorry, Ms March, but this prison is . . ." Bernie changes track when she sees March's frown of disapproval. Bernie knows she'll have to bit her tongue about the state of the prison, knows when she's lost a battle. "I was stressed and I was wrong to take it out on you."

Ms March gives a curt nod. "This is your final chance, Miss Wolfe."

After she's left the room, Bernie closes the book, puts it to one side. "How on earth did you sweet-talk her into that?" Bernie grins. "It seems you have quite the way with women, Campbell."

"Serena's fine."

"Okay, Campbell."

Serena's arches an eyebrow, but her eyes sparkle. "I'll see you tomorrow."

This time when she leaves, Bernie watches her - swears there's a swing in her hips. 

-

"Oh," Bernie feigns disappointment when she's escorted by Di Lucca to the door of Serena's officer. "I thought you'd have had of those chaise things you see on TV."

"Sorry?"

"You know, whenever someone goes to therapy they always lie down, stare up at the ceiling, twiddle their thumbs."

"Well this is counselling, not therapy. Take a seat." Serena gestures to the chair next to Bernie, sits back in her own.

"Nice desk, though," Bernie tilt her head to the furniture behind Serena. "Sturdy."

"Right," Serena thinks they're due a change in topic. "How we about we begin with yesterday? Why were you stressed?"

"No idea. Seeing as I'm living in the height of luxury."

"Did it have anything to do with the phone call you made?"

"What, the, oh, all of 60 seconds of it?"

"You've frustrated by the new rules the Governor's put in place?

"Rules?" Bernie leans back in her chair. "No visits, no TV. They're punishments. She's punishing the women."

"Why would she want to do that?"

"Dunno," Bernie shrugs her shoulders. "Maybe she just get offs on the power."

"We're not here to talk about the Governor."

"No, we're not. We're here so I can talk and then you can ignore it and tell me what to think and feel instead."

"Not a fan of counselling, then?"

"Not a fan of pointless exercises."

"I'm sorry if in the past you felt that you haven't be heard, but . . . let's start afresh." Serena clasps her hands together, twists them. "If you don't want to talk about yesterday, what about the future? How do you envisage it?"

"The future?"

"After you get out of here, what do you want to do?"

Bernie looks out the window, as if thinking hard. "I always figured that I could, perhaps . . . work with women."

Serena leans forward. "In what context?"

Bernie turns back to her, holds Serena's gaze, its so sincere, so hopeful and Bernie can't resist a smirk. "The sexual one."

"I meant the question seriously."

"I'm being serious. Never had any complaints from anyone in here. Maybe I should start charging."

"So, you've never properly considered a job outside of this place?" Serena asks. "Do you believe there's no chance of leaving?"

"This is third time I've applied for parole."

"But you jeopardised it yesterday. You jeopardised it twice before. Another verbal abuse charge, and plans to incite a riot. Which, I hear, were a success."

Bernie scoffs. "Back when I thought this prison had any hope of reform."

"Do you have any hope for yourself? It seems like a pattern of self-sabotage."

"See, this is what I meant. You've read my case file, talked at me for all of an hour of an hour and now, bingo,  _Judge Judy,_ you've reached your verdict."

"You haven't given me much to go on. Come on, Bernie, you've really never thought of the future?"

Bernie jumps to her feet. "What bloodly future? I'll never practice medicine again. I'll have no home, no friends. Nothing but a criminal record. And a quite impressive one, at that."

"There is support available, there are - "

"Oh, save me the motivational speech. This was a waste of time." Bernie raps hard at the door, calls for Di Lucca. _They're done._

-

Bernie lowers the weight, wipes her brow. The sun scorches above, but there's another heat creeping up her back. The feeling of someone watching her. She surveys the exercise yard, the prisoners and officers, spots the flame of Campbell's red shirt.She's talking to a prisoner, getting her to sign something on her clipboard. Her eyes are fixated on a sheet of paper. When she's finished, she looks up - catches Bernie's stare. One Bernie had never meant to hide.

"Morning," she greets when she walks past Bernie on her way to the courtyard's exit.

"You just can't keep away, can you?"

"I'm just making sure you've haven't forgotten our meeting later. I'll see you there?"

"Like I've got a choice."

"It'll help your parole. If you can show to the board a committment to reform. But I do need something to write up in my report in the first place." 

"Well, we can check off one step." Bernie rakes her eyes over Serena's figure. "Skirts do make everything easier." 

"I want you to appreciate the importance of our time together, Bernie." 

Bernie steps forward to Serena, her eyes glittering in the sun.

"I am." 

"Its not just a game to be played," Serena's tilts her head to one side side, "not just a box to be ticked."

"I knew there was some fire underneath those smiles." 

"Quarter past three," Serena reminds her. "And I expect you to take it seriously this time." 

Bernie inches closer to her. Lowers her voice. "Or what?"

Serena simply smiles and shakes her head, her silver hair glinting in the sun. She slips past her, through the courtyard gates. Through the fence, Bernie's eyes track her movements. The pale, stockinged skin of her calves. She thinks how impossibly smooth they would feel against her fingertips. How soft the flesh underneath would feel against her cheek.

_Quarter past three._

_-_

"So, anything you'd like to start the session with?" Serena crosses her legs. 

"Not really," Bernie taps her fingers on the arm of her chair. 

"What about why you're in here? You changed your plea four years ago. You tried to prove your innocence."

"Yeah, and that achieved fuck all."

"Why did you change it? Can't have been a decision you took lightly."

"What does it matter? You don't believe me. No one does. The whole world thinks I did it because I told them so. I've served most of my sentence."

"You don't want to see the real offender behind bars?"

Bernie's eye flit downwards. "That'll never happen."

"You must have a lot of anger. How do you release it?"

Bernie chuckles. _She shouts at the staff and fucks it up all more._

"I'm thinking of ways you can channel it without events like last week's happnening. Does working out help?"

"That," Bernie pauses. "And other physical activities." 

"Do you use sex as escapism?"

Bernie sinks back in her chair, places her hands on her stomach. 

"Enough about me. How do you find release?"

"Bernie . . ." Serena warns.

"Tell me, when was the last time you had sex? _Good_ sex. _Pleasurable_ sex."

Serena's skin flushes. Bernie watches her, with satisification, shift in her seat. Watches Serena's fingers toy with the pendant of her necklace. The only jewellery Bernie's ever seen her wear, no ring. Serena clears her throat. When she speaks, her voice is steady. 

"Why did you shift the conversation? Was it because it is escapism and you don't enjoy it?"

Bernie ignores her. "That is a shame, attractive woman like you. Men," she tuts, "they talk too much to put their mouths to good use. Women, however . . ."

"Are you comfortable in your sexuality?"

"What makes you ask that?"

"You're questioning mine." 

"Do your children know you're gay?"

"Do yours?"

Serena sighs. "We're not going to get anywhere if we keep playing this game of tit for tat. They say it's easier nowadays, but it's never easy. Before prison, did you tell anyone? Friends, siblings, parents?"

Bernie laughs, can't help it. 

"It must have felt quite isolating. And I know, you've had relationships in here, but prison's lonely in different ways."

"Lonely? You can't even think in here, it's that loud. Can't even take one step without being followed." 

"You don't have to be alone to feel lonely." Serena tells Bernie. "It must cause a lot of anxiety, to feel like that, like you can't be alone. Like you're always being watched."

"And the Governor's got prime viewing." 

"I didn't mean the CCTV."

"I know." Bernie's voice is soft, softer than Serena's ever heard it and her eyes are wide, full with exhaustion.

When Fletch knocks on the door to take Bernie back to her cell, they both startle. Neither of them thought it was anywhere near the end of the hour.

_Two weeks later_

Serenais walking back from her weekly group session with the women when she hears the Governor's shout.

"Can we can some help here?"

She hurries down the corridor, can't mask her gasp. Ms March is on the floor, unconscious, her face bloodied. Ms Naylor is crouched next to her. Bernie hovers next to them both, blood on her vest.

Serena's face crumples. "What did you do?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Sappho.
> 
> Some of the plot, and a few of the lines of dialogue, from Wentworth.


	2. Chapter Two

_Serena is walking back from her weekly group session with the women when she hears the Governor's shout._

_"Can we can get some help here?"_

_She hurries down the corridor, can't mask her gasp._ _Ms March is on the floor, unconscious, her face bloodied. Ms Naylor is crouched next to her._ _Bernie hovers next to them both, blood on her vest._

_Serena face crumples. "What did you do?"_

"Try to help her!" Bernie shouts. "Or did you think I just became a doctor for the fun of it?"

"Slot her," Jac orders Mr Di Lucca and Fletch. "I don't believe a word she says." 

"That doesn't make it false," Bernie protests as Fletch takes hold of her.

"No, sorry, I forgot," Jac's voice is as sharp as a knife, "you shouldn't even be in here because you're actually a bloody saint."

"Come on, Bernie." Raf tries to placate her. "Don't makes this any harder than it has to be." 

Bernie doesn't struggle as they take her away. Just turns her head to look back at Serena. Serena feels the gaze burn right through her. 

-

Another day. The same hot sun and the same courtyard. Bernie leans back against the wall, lights up a cigarette. A cloud of smoke, then, in front of her, silver hair and no smile.

"Last one," Bernie tells her.

"Giving up?" Serena crosses her arms, tilts her head in a way that's meant to make Bernie believe she cares.

"Nah. Another new rule."

"I didn't know the Governor was imposing a smoking ban."

"She will, today. Her girlfriend got hurt. She'll want vengeance."

Serena takes a deep breath. "Bernie, look . . . I owe you an apology."

"Save it."

"Last night, I rather jumped the gun." 

Bernie cocks an eyebrow. _There are far better things to jump._ She takes another drag. "I mean I did enjoy a night spent away from the rabble, but I wouldn't give the food a glowing recommendation. Definitely wouldn't be up to your . . . _tastes_."

"Because I'm just some stuck-up, meddling therapist without a clue about what life inside is really like?"

"My version was a little bit more explicit, but," Bernie stabs her cigarette against the bin, "you got the gist." 

"You've a right to be angry. I would be."

"God, don't start this I'm-gonna-step-in-your-shoes bullshit again." 

"In our sessions, I'd put so much focus on your parole. I was worried. All the pressure. I was worried that Ms March had threatened to reinstate the verbal charge and -"

"And what? So I'd socked her one?"

"Bernie," Serena holds her hands up, a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry. I compromised the trust between us. I shouldn't have - "

"What trust?" Bernie rolls her eyes. "Now, if you excuse me, lunch won't make it self."

- 

"Bernie," Serena's eyes widen when she turns up at her door.

"I'm surprised as you." She saunters over to one of the soft, cushioned chairs that face each other in the office, saunters over to _Serena's_  chair, drops in it. "But . . ." She trails a finger along the seam of the arm of the chair. 

"No choice?" Serena beats her to the phrase, settling back into Bernie's usual chair. 

With her fingers, Bernie makes air-quotes, steals Serena's words. "There's always a choice."

"But it would have come at the cost of your parole."

"Anyway," Bernie exclaims, stretching her arms as readying herself for a workout in the courtyard, "what's the order for today?"

"Order? I wasn't aware we were ordering takeaway." 

"We can eat out, if you prefer?" 

Serena inhales, eyes flitting to the side. _She_   _walked right into that._

"What is the point of this session?" Bernie continues. "Re-establishing trust?"

"Something like that."

"Okay, then, Campbell. You all know about me. What's your tragic backstory?"

"Sorry?"

"You only starting working in prisons five years ago." Bernie slouches back in the chair. "What happened five years ago?"

"You've done your research on me."

"Only fair. So, what happened? Must have been pretty fucked up."

"We're not here to talk about me, you know that." 

"Come on," Bernie stands up, "what does a pretty girl like you get from rubbing shoulders with violent criminals and junkies?" She puts her hands on the arms of Serena's chair, leans in close. "Does it turn you on?"

Serena's fingers are skimming up and down her necklace, Bernie registers with a smug smile.

It falters at Serena's tone. "Are you trying to provoke me? Push me until I push back? Embarrass  me?" Serena asks. "Intimidate me?"

Bernie's brow furrows. "Why would you say that?" 

"Because if you are, I'm disappointed." 

Bernie steps back. 

"You may thinks it's all a joke, but it's not to me. I'd have hoped respect was on the same checklist as trust."

Bernie retreats, slumps back in her chair. "Sorry."

"Let's start again. Truce?" 

Serena leans forward, holds out her hand.

This time Bernie takes it, curls her fingers around Serena's. 

Bernie nods, smiles. "Truce."

-

"So," Serena says at the start of their next session. "Missing the cigarettes much?"

Bernie chuckles. "A bit."

"Missing anything else?"

"Big question."

"Start small. Being in here, what do you miss? Like, I don't know, your local Chinese?"

"Coffee. The good kind." 

"The kind that actually tastes like cofffee?"

"Aye, aye." Bernie agrees with a raise of her eyebrows. "I smell it in here most sessions." 

"Well, you're not alone in your love of the stuff, I'll tell you that."

There'sa pause, an empty space between them for a witty quip, but it never comes. 

 _You look tired._ They boththink _,_ but neither of them say it to the other. 

Bernie glances at the door, the ceiling, before they're drawn back to Serena by the softness of her voice.

"Bernie?"

Bernie exhales. "I miss my kids."

-

"Serena?" Edward calls into the hallway, a couple of minutes after Serena has arrived home. His face drops when he enters the kitchen. Sees the table clear apart from a bottle of red. "Where's the food?"

"Edward," Serena says his name slowly, as if mustering up every ounce of her strength. "This," she waves a hand in the air, "this thing, dinner, date . . . it was a bad idea." 

"But we agreed, dinner, then we'd have a look at the photos together. Did you manage to find that tape? The birthday with the bouncy castle and the bike?"

"Yes," Serena turns to reach for a wine glass. "Everything's on the coffee table. All the tapes. All the photos."

"We said we were going to go through them together." 

"I know," Serena pours out the shiraz, sighs. "And I would never ever stop from you looking at them. Whenever you want. But," she screws the lid back on the bottle, "I'm tired. It's been a long day."  

"I don't know why you work there. All those thugs. Don't you get scared?"

"They're just women, Edward." 

Serena picks up the glass of wine in one hand, the bottle in another and heads out the kitchen, up to her bedroom. The irony is not lost on her, but she can't find in her to care.

"I made the spare room up," she tells Edward. There's two spare rooms now, but they both know which one she means. "See you tomorrow." 

-

Serena lies in bed, replays Bernie's story in her mind. How Marcus had manipulated her to take the fall for him, say it was her, the drugs trafficking, the malpractice, everything. How he had said it was the best for the kids. How he would bring them to see her every week. How he would make sure they never forgot about her. Never thought bad of her.

_It's all just a misunderstanding. Mummy will be home soon._

Serena stares at the ceiling, blinks. It's a sad story, one easy to cry at late at night - she's a human as a well as a professional therapist - but the tears won't break. Serena stares at the ceiling, watches it brighten with the first light of dawn. 

-

_Two weeks later_

Serena watches it unfold in slow motion, like a romantic film. 

She watches Alex jump from the chair, watches her throw her arms around Bernie. Squeeze her tight.

"Miss me?" 

Serena's eyes fall to the ground - so as not to see Bernie's face at Alex's question. Bernie's smile.


End file.
